


Can't Keep Secrets That I Know

by callowyn, jaimeykay, thegeminisage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callowyn/pseuds/callowyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimeykay/pseuds/jaimeykay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegeminisage/pseuds/thegeminisage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo wants to help Sam track down his brother, but this chivalry business is starting to piss her off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Keep Secrets That I Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoragMacPherson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoragMacPherson/gifts).



Jo slams the Impala door behind her, because fuck the car; she was too young for Dean to want her in the backseat and apparently she’s too weak for Sam to want her riding shotgun, even though it’s demons, it’s _Dean,_ and Sam can’t afford to be going in without backup. Sam follows hot on her heels as she shoves open the door to the motel room.

“Look, all I’m saying is, you’ve already dealt with Meg once and that’ll make it easier for her to get to you this time around.” Sam’s doing the earnest face, which probably works on his brother every time. Jo pushes him away from the door and bolts it.

“She knows you pretty damn well too, and I’m not the one with a senior-level demon on my ass. Maybe _you_ should sit this one out.”

“He’s my _brother_ ,” says Sam, and Jo has had it up to here with goddamn Winchesters who say that like it’s Gospel.

“That bitch tied me to a pole and nearly gutted me like a fish.” Her hands are steady as she pours a line of salt across the threshold. “And in case you forgot, it was me who had to stitch Dean up afterwards, so don’t you dare act like this isn’t personal for me, Sam Winchester, don’t even think about it.” She sounds like her mother.

Jo stands up, and Sam isn’t quick enough to look away from her ass, from the way her crouch made the jeans sling lower on her hips. His face closes off almost instantly, just like it has every other time—and there have been a lot of times, not that Jo’s counting but this is the shittiest week of a shitty year and a girl’s gotta occupy herself with something. He never touches her, never says anything about it, but he doesn’t stop looking either.

“You think I couldn’t take her in a fight, is that it?” she challenges.

Sam spreads his hands, apologetic and smug— _couldn’t take me_. He’s standing too close to her and doesn’t seem to notice, like this is all his space, the motel and the case and that fucking car, like Jo is just some civ wandering through his life and he’ll be rid of her soon enough.

Jo socks him in the jaw.

“What the _hell_.” Sam sounds genuinely pissed, and Jo laughs because maybe now they’re getting somewhere.

“Come on,” she says, blood rushing madly. “This is what hunters do, right? Fight each other. Spar.”

“We’re in the middle of a case,” Sam says, and there goes that expression, the one Dean calls his bitchface. He’s rubbing his face where her knuckles hit, but he hasn’t moved away. Maybe he’ll bruise. Jo steps forward and watches his muscles tense.

“Do I look like I care?”

Sam doesn’t hit her, even though Jo is braced for it, even though she’s already remembering what her mom taught her about fighting guys twice her size, _move quick get ‘em off-balance but always always stay on your feet_. Instead he growls, “Fighting isn’t going to prove anything.”

Jo’s already on edge, angry and starting to shake, and thinking of her mother isn’t helping. She’s had this argument too many times. “How else am I supposed to get you to trust me?”

“ _You’re_ not the one I don’t trust,” he snaps back too fast, and then turns away from her, jaw clenching, to sit on one of the creaking beds.

Jo follows. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She had heard the rumors drifting through the Roadhouse, of course—Sam Winchester’s freaky visions, the yellow-eyed demon building an army of recruits. There’s plenty of hunters that want Sam put down before he can turn on them; Jo herself isn’t likely to forget Sam’s knife flicking against her face any time soon. But she doesn’t see any half-demon Boy King sitting on her bed: just Sam, stubborn and loyal and infuriating.

He’s rubbing the scar on his left arm where a demon-binding sigil used to be. “Enough people have gotten hurt because of me.”

God, that is fucking _it_ ; Jo shoves Sam flat on the bed and pins his wrists down before he has the chance to throw her off, her knees on either side of his hips. She can feel the heat coming off him. “If you would stop wallowing in guilt for _one damn second_ ,” she says, “maybe you’d’ve noticed that _I want this too._ ” And she leans over and kisses him.

Sam goes unnaturally still beneath her. His arms stay rigid at his sides even when Jo releases them to cup his face, nipping and biting her way along his jaw and down to his collarbone. But he doesn’t push her off, and when she runs her tongue over one particular patch of skin, he automatically turns to give her better access and lets out a quick exhale.

“Jo,” he mutters, but she just grips his hair and chases the words back where they came from. She’s already told him that she doesn’t need his apologies, and that goes double when she can feel exactly how not sorry he is.

Sam opens up to her, tongue sliding along hers as his hands go to her waist. They’re big enough to wrap almost all the way around her, and his thumbs rub circles in the skin above her pelvis as Jo rolls her hips against him. When her breasts brush across the broad expanse of his chest, his grip tightens to bruising.

Too many clothes. Grabbing Sam’s wrists, Jo pulls them onto her shoulders, and his thumbs toy with the spaghetti straps of her top. She wiggles around a bit, allowing one to slip down her shoulder, and Sam’s palm cups her bicep, rubbing it in smooth circles.

Sam’s eyes simmer with heat before he tugs the strap down, and Jo tugs her top over her head before laying siege to the buttons on his flannel shirt, almost ripping them off in impatience. He sits upright so he can shrug it the rest of the way off, and Jo throws it in the corner, on top of her tank. “This too,” she says, tugging at his undershirt. Sam peels it off in one beautiful stretch of muscle.

Jo takes a moment to appreciate the sight, running her fingers along his stomach as it quivers. Little beads of sweat are collecting on Sam’s hairline, dripping down his temple. He brushes his knuckles up and down her bare ribs until she’s shivering with goosebumps, then slides his fingers under the straps of her bra.

Jo deftly unhooks the bra and tosses it aside, rocking down against Sam’s lap. His eyes look a little glazed, and she smirks, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Are you gonna join this party, or should I take care of myself?”

Sam’s nostrils flare. Next thing Jo knows she’s on her back, Sam’s sheer size pressing her down almost as much as the hands on her shoulders. He’s breathing harshly, and it’s about damn time he lost his cool; Jo wants to be drilled into this cheap mattress so hard she can’t see straight. She grins in anticipation.

Except that Sam cups her breasts almost tenderly as he leans down, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. Jo grips the back of Sam’s head and gives a low moan, hoping to egg him on, but he maintains his irritatingly slow pace. When he’s worked that breast over thoroughly he moves on to the other, just as slowly, hands drifting toward her hips.

Jo lets out a frustrated breath, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “Hurry up.”

Sam pops the button of her jeans and starts easing them off, inch by careful inch. He looks up at her from behind his bangs. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Sam wants to _take care of her_. Just like the boys at school who thought giving her a lift home was some noble rescue mission, when they’d probably piss themselves to hear half the stories she could tell. Or worse, all the cocksure hunters that swung through the Roadhouse and assumed Jo was on the menu. They looked at her and saw Bill Harvelle’s girl, too young to bring on the hunts they were always bragging about but plenty old enough for a quick diddle in their rusted trucks. Jo doesn’t want Sam to take care of her, she wants—

"Get off me." She shoves his head aside and wiggles out from under him, kicking off her jeans as she stands up.

Sam stands up too, looking worried. "Jo, if you don't want to do this..."

“Oh, we’re doing this. But we’re doing it _my_ way.” Jo's not wearing anything now except her navy-blue panties, but she stalks right back into Sam’s personal space, planting her feet and glaring up at him like she isn't hyperaware of the extra foot and a half of height. "Take off your jeans and get back on the bed."

At first Sam just stares at her, eyes flicking between hers like she’s gonna back down, but a few seconds crawl by and his gaze slips a little lower. He’s staring openly now, eyes devouring every inch of her bare skin, and Jo shivers under the heat of his gaze. There's a long moment where she's sure Sam's going to tell her no, but then he slowly undoes his belt and slides his jeans off.

“Sit down,” Jo says, and she feels a rush of giddiness when he complies, his boxers doing nothing to hide how hard he is. Jo raises her eyebrows, appreciative; looks like Sam’s big hands aren’t false advertising after all. She lets her eyes drag all the way up his sweaty chest, then walks to the edge of the bed and drops to her knees.

He sucks in a breath. “Are you sure—”

Staring him dead in the eye, Jo yanks down his boxers and takes his cock into her mouth.

Sam bucks upward, but he aborts the movement halfway through, clenching the sheets, still trying to stay in control. Jo runs her tongue carefully over the underside of his dick, tasting that bitter musk she can never quite get used to. She hears Sam moan, and one of his huge hands dips beneath her hair, cups her skull, pulls her closer. She sinks down as slowly as she can, humming _Ramble On_.

Getting more confident, Jo releases the head and runs her tongue up and down his cock as he bucks against her. She smirks against him, loving the way that she can drive him wild with one touch. With her other hand, she runs her fingers carefully over the underside of his cock, blowing hot breath against him as she goes.

He’s leaking now, warm and slippery as she takes him back in her mouth, twirling her tongue, and above her Sam is spouting all sorts of nonsense like _holy shit_ and _Jo_ and _fucking beautiful_. Jo reaches out to cup Sam’s balls in the palm of her hand, rolling them back and forth and smirking when his thighs start to shake on either side of her. When he's about a half a second from blowing his load, she stops, clamps her hand down around the base of him and pulls back. Sam curses like he’s been shot.

“We’re not done yet,” Jo says, and after a minute the corner of Sam’s mouth tugs upward.

“Guess we aren’t.” He pulls her on the bed, running his hands down her sides. Jo shivers, but it’s soft, too soft, _this isn’t want she wants_ —

Sam’s hand suddenly dips underneath her panties, fingers dragging through the wetness he finds there, and yeah, she can get with that. She spreads her legs for easier access, and Sam obliges her, his thumb finding her clit and giving it a soft stroke. She keens and throws her head back, and Sam speeds up, faster but not too fast. He slips two fingers inside of her, gauging how wet she is, and Jo wiggles around, impatient.

“ _Enough_ ,” she hisses. “I’m ready, and I want this, you can feel it. I’m ready for _you._ ” Sam’s dick jumps at her dark tone, and she grins, grabbing his neck and drawing him close. “So fuck me already.”

Sam pants and tugs her hands away from his neck, then moves further up the bed and retrieves something from the bedside table. He tosses it to her: a condom. She plants a hand in the middle of his chest and pushes down so his back's against the bed, then kneels over him as she rolls the condom onto his cock. Sam moans, thumbs roughly over nipples and moves down to squeeze her ass. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with arousal, but there’s a warmth there that she’s never seen directed at her. She thinks he might finally be getting it, that she’s something more than collateral damage, that he’s allowed to want this.

And he wants it, she can tell; he's so hard she knows it's got to be at least a little painful. It strikes her again how big he is—it was one thing to feel the thick weight of Sam’s dick in her mouth, but it’s entirely another to imagine how deep he’ll be able to get inside her, stretching her wide open. Jo moves back, inhales, and takes him with her palm, holding him as she starts to sink onto him.

" _Fuck_ ," she groans, spreading her legs a little wider to accommodate the stretch. Sam’s hands are gripping her hips almost painfully, almost as if he wants to grab her and slam her all the way down, but Jo’s hands braced against him keep him still. Finally seating herself fully on his lap, she takes a moment, deep breaths to adjust to the burn before she starts moving, a slow rolling of her hips. She keeps both hands pressed flat against his chest, and leans over him. With every movement she makes, the tips of her hair brush across his shoulders, clinging to the sweat.

Sam's hands drift all over her body, as if they can’t decide where they should be. Jo grabs them and rolls her hips a few more times as she slowly brings one of his hands down to her crotch. Sam takes the not-so-subtle hint, massaging her clit again with soft swirls. Jo groans, throwing her head back as she grips his pecs and speeds up her movements.

" _Sam_ ," she gasps. "Shit." She's panting, and her head tips forward again, using her hands against his chest as leverage as she moves. "Not half bad," she taunts. "Been thinking about this, haven’t you, watching me all the time. How long have you--?"

"Long enough," Sam groans, arching up into Jo, his own head falling back to the pillows, and he looks too damn good with his hair fanned out everywhere and his neck bared. Jo's tempted to lean down, take that skin between her teeth again, to press her chest against Sam’s torso and grind around him, but she’s curious.

"Never made a move, though." She moves forward, grinds down against Sam's hand and shudders. "You shy, Sam? Or did your brother call first dibs?" She closes her eyes, lips parted in a grin. "Maybe he told you to stay away from me. You do everything your brother says, Sam?"

She opens her eyes, and the dark look on Sam's face sends a thrill through her. "No," Sam says, very deliberately, and his hands lock around her wrists.

Jo gasps, but then he's flipping them again, knocking the wind out of her. When she's on her back, he starts moving, leans down to kiss her _hard_ , deep and messy and rough like she wanted in the first place. If she’d known this was all it took—

“I’m not Dean’s girl,” she pants between thrusts. “Dean couldn’t _handle_ me.”

Sam starts to move a little quicker, his bangs falling down around his eyes. His gaze is locks onto hers, deadly serious. "We're not talking about Dean." That last word comes out a little louder, right as a good thrust makes her clench up around him. Jo just grins up at him, loving this, because Sam's not treating her like a glass doll, he's not making love to her—he's _fucking_ her, and he's damn good at it.

Sam's mouth is on her, no gentle tonguebath now; he's bitey and rough, really getting into it, and Jo lets out a high moan and arches up into him. "Sam, yes, _fuck_ —"

"Gonna come for me, Jo?" he asks, and she can feel his breath on her skin, feel his sweat mixing with hers.

She laughs a little, because it sounds like it's out of a bad porno, but it's _hot_. She's close, and between Sam's fingers and the way he seems to know exactly which angle to thrust inside her to drive her wild, she figures she isn't going to last too much longer.

"Make me."

Sam chuckles deep and low against her skin, and then Jo feels him work an arm under her, pull her up a little--fuck, he's _biting_ her, right along her collarbone the way she likes it.

"Finally," Jo gasps, tilting her head back, giving him all the room he needs to work. She's jerking her hips up into his, fingernails digging into his back. When Sam moves down to her breast again, she squeezes harder, gets a hiss out of him. "Knew you liked it rough," she says, and she's rambling a just little. "Kept me waiting long enough, taking it so goddamn slow, Jesus, those muscles gotta be good for something—"

"Shut up," Sam tells her, and he slams home even deeper than before. She loses what little restraint she had left as her orgasm rocks her, and there's no way Sam can silence her through _that_.

There's only a few more shallow thrusts until Sam's finishing himself, and Jo has to admit, whatever roughness she managed to provoke out of Sam, he's still _Sam_ : a gentlemen through and through, making sure she got hers first. Jo just can't see the evil in him, even after—especially after—seeing what Sam was like with a demon riding his skin.

Sam's panting into the skin of her shoulder. Jo allows him to catch his breath before shoving at him—he’s fucking _heavy_. He grimaces, then eases out of her, peeling them apart. Jo hisses as he inches out. She feels so fucked open, exposed, and she loves it, loves that Sam was responsible for that.

She lolls her neck to watch Sam collapse on his back next to her, but she doesn't roll over and cuddle like he's probably expecting. She's still out of breath herself, and it takes her a moment to collect herself enough to say, "Don't worry. We'll get Dean back in one piece."

Sam runs his hands through his hair—Jo’s pleased to see that he’s still shaking - and he lets out an exasperated laugh. "Yeah, okay."

Jo elbows him. "We might have gotten him back _sooner_ if you hadn't spent all this time mollycoddling me."

"My mistake," Sam says. And maybe Dean was right about Sam needing to get laid more often, because Jo can't seem to find any of that angst or guilt now. She has a feeling he's going to be much less of a pain in the ass from here on out. "So, hit the road bright and early tomorrow? Got a demon to track."

"Yeah," Jo says, closing her eyes. She should probably move to the other bed, but after sex like that she isn't up to going anywhere.

"All right." Sam rolls over then, just enough to look at her. "And just so you know..."

"What?" she mumbles, because God, can't a girl get some sleep around here? It's late.

"You want first shower tomorrow, you're gonna have to fight me for it."

Jo cracks one eye open and grins at him. "Bring it."


End file.
